


“Secrets? I love secrets!”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Fictobers [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 16:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Day 18 of Fictober 2019 demanded a sequel.





	“Secrets? I love secrets!”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CVH14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CVH14/gifts).

> Gifted to CVH14, with apologies for saying I wasn’t going to write a sequel to any of these. I really wasn’t, but this one wouldn’t let go...

“Secrets? I love secrets.”

Jack beams. Robin has squeezed into his fort under the dining table, and is interested in his secret.

“I’m not supposed to know. I heard Aunty Ilsa and Uncle Nick talking.”

“Ooh, have they got a secret?” Robin smiles, idly wondering what it is.

Jack leans in. “Uncle Cormoran’s in love with you,” he whispers loudly.

Shock pierces her.

“Um, Jack, I don’t—”

“Aunty Ilsa says it’s obvious.”

Curiosity overpowers discretion. “What did Uncle Nick say?”

“He already knew. Someone called Oggy told him.”

“Oh. That’s— Oh.”

“Do you want your own sword?”

“Um...yes, please.”

...

For a moment Strike can’t move, horror freezing him to the spot. Then he hears shuffling from the den and realises one of them is about to emerge. Jack is chattering away now about the rules of the game, and Robin murmurs agreement, but she sounds flat, somehow.

He can’t bear the thought of meeting her gaze right now. He feels raw, vulnerable, exposed. He backs slowly from the room, beer in one hand and Robin’s glass of wine in the other, and once he’s out of earshot he turns and makes his way back through his sister’s kitchen to the garden, dumping Robin’s glass on the counter as he passes. Rage is swelling within him suddenly.

He spots Nick and Ilsa chatting to Greg and marches over. “A word, please?” he says tightly to Nick, and, bemused, Nick nods and follows him across to the far side of the garden, casting a sideways look and a slight shrug at Ilsa as he goes.

By the time Ilsa has managed to make her excuses to Greg and follow them, a fiercely whispered argument is under way.

“Why were you even discussing me?” Strike is angry, drawing hard on his cigarette. Nick gives his wife a warning glance as she approaches.

“Mate, we were just having a chat, you know how it is. We both care about you—”

“Well, you’ve got a pretty poor way of showing it.”

Strike huffs. Ilsa looks at them both. “What’s going on?”

Strike glares into the distance and smokes. Nick shrugs. “Jack overheard us talking earlier, apparently. Um, about Oggy, and, er, Robin.”

Ilsa’s eyes grow round. “Oh.”

“Er, and he’s told Robin.”

“Oh!” Ilsa flushes guiltily. “Um, well, maybe it’s a good thing?”

Strike glares at her. “And how exactly is it a good thing?” he demands.

“Hang on, she’s coming,” Nick says. “So, er, you keeping an eye on the Grand Prix? Hamilton’s got a good chance today, I gather.”

Robin scurries past, sword in hand. “Hide and seek,” she says cheerfully, disappearing round behind the shed.

Strike glares at Nick. “The Grand Prix? Since when have I ever had an interest in Formula 1?” he hisses. “She’s going to know that’s a cover.”

Nick shrugs. “It was all I could think of. No football.”

Ilsa tries for reason. “How about I talk to her for you?” They can see Jack approaching. Nick grins at him and nods towards the shed. Jack giggles and begins to creep towards it.

“How on earth would that help?” Strike demands.

“Well, you know. Maybe she feels the same...”

Strike snorts. “She doesn’t. She’s never anything other than professional.”

“She’s your colleague. Of course she’d be like that at work. She’s different away from the office, though.”

Strike casts her a sideways look. “How so?”

Ilsa shrugs. “You know. Softer. More relaxed with you. Smilier.”

Nick leans in. “You know that’s not a word.” Ilsa rolls her eyes fondly at him.

Strike clears his throat. “So, er, you don’t think, um, Vettel is going to win?”

Robin dashes past again with Jack hot on her heels. He’s sure she casts him an amused look as she goes, and he feels his cheeks grow hot. It must be so obvious what they’re all really discussing.

He drops his cigarette and grinds it out under his heel, his head ducked to hide the blush he knows Ilsa has seen. She’s giving him that look.

“Just don’t,” he warns her, and she pouts a little and nods.

“Well, maybe you should say something,” Nick suggests.

“Like what?”

“Well, I don’t know. But, you know, she knows now. And you know she knows. So can you really say nothing?”

“She doesn’t know I know she knows.”

Nick blinks. “What?”

“She’s coming back again,” Ilsa hisses as Robin comes hurrying back round the side of the house. “And I don’t know anything about motor racing!”

Sword in hand still, Robin gives them all a grin as she approaches. Strike can’t quite meet her clear blue-grey gaze. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to again.

She hesitates, looking at him, and suddenly changes tack, heading straight for them. Before Strike can think, she’s stepped into the little circle they make. She’s flushed from racing about, her blouse clinging to her a little. She steps right up to him and kisses him full on the mouth, pressing her soft lips to his.

It’s both chaste and not chaste. Swift, bold, but soft and full of intent. Over almost as soon as it’s begun. Even as Ilsa squeaks, Robin is gone again, dashing on to slip back through the patio doors into the kitchen.

There’s a stunned pause.

Nick chuckles. “I think she knows you know she knows.”

Ilsa’s eyes are sparkling with delight. “Oh, Corm...” She looks like she might be going to cry.

Strike is rooted to the spot, the feeling of Robin’s lips still burnt onto his own. He knows he’s blushing properly, now, but his hammering heart is an expanding beacon of hope.

His jaw sets, determined. He hands his pint to Nick. “Hold this. I’m going to find Robin.”

Nick winks. “Quick, before Jack does.”

Strike rolls his eyes, and strides across to the patio doors.

Ilsa claps her hands, delighted. “Oh, Nick,” she whispers. “It’s finally happening!”

He sets the two glasses he’s holding down on the low wall next to them and grins fondly at her. “I think it is. And we have kind of helped, by accident.”

Ilsa smiles mistily up at him as he slides an arm around her. “I’m so happy for them,” she murmurs, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He kisses the top of her head. “Me, too.”

They wait, trying not to stare too obviously towards the kitchen, wondering if Strike has found Robin yet, and then Jack dashes out of the doors suddenly and makes a beeline for them.

“Hey, mate,” Nick calls cheerfully. “Did you find Robin?”

Jack is giggling. “I did!” he cries. “She was hiding in the utility room. And Uncle Cormoran was hiding in there with her and they were KISSING!”

Silence descends on the garden. Lucy and Greg and a handful of other guests are all staring at them. Nick clears his throat.

“Well, buddy, looks like you’ve lost your playmate for now. Can I play?”

Ilsa nods eagerly. “Me too?”

Jack cheers. “I’ll get you a sword!” He dashes back towards the house.

Ilsa wipes her eyes. Nick grabs her hand, and they follow Jack.


End file.
